


Bring the Noise

by djinnj



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Episode Spoilers, Gen, OC, UNLESS THEY FIX IT DAMMIT, fixit, post episode s02e10 What They Become, triplives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djinnj/pseuds/djinnj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I felt a great disturbance in the force when that thing happened, you know that thing. And so, I needed to fic to fix it, because I think it shouldn't have happened. Really, it didn't need to happen, and so I am FIXING IT. </p><p>So, there's more of this and I've decided to keep going as long as I have ideas. I'll try to post on Tuesdays for TripLivesTuesday, but I can't make any promises. Still un-betaed, still the first thing I've written in over 2yrs, still interstitial and plotless. So, <em>thank you</em> for taking the time and reading!</p><p>This AU focuses on Agent Triplett post the mid-season finale of season 2. I like to tread close to canon, but this by necessity has deviated and involves my headcanon. This mostly explores ideas and characterization so don't expect any action/adventure or, you know, plot. Rated T for references and allusions to canon things that are a bit darker than G.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bring the Funk

Trip landed with a thump, still contracted in pain and disbelief, gasping at the sudden loss of the encasing black stone. His eyes were dazzled and watering in the unexpected bright sunlight, but he knew that it was carpeting under his fingertips and his bruised hip, not the gritty floor of the stone chamber. Skye and Raina were gone, or to put it more precisely, he was gone and for all he knew they were still back there, turned to stone as he should have been.

He wheezed and sat up, blinking the tears from his eyes and running a disbelieving hand over his stomach and chest. He knew he should be in more pain as his fingers poked through the holes in his shirt. Hell, he knew he should be dead, filled with crystal shards and turned to black rock. A soft creak shook him from his daze and he looked around, taking in the bed and the familiar quilt.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered in shock as the door to the small room flew open. 

“Antoine?!” 

He met her wide eyes over the Smith & Wesson aimed at his forehead.

“Hi, Momma. Uh, I’m home?”


	2. Begin at the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I needed more of Trip's Momma. These are just little interstitial scenes as they come to me. Thus far there is no plot.

Trip swiped a hand across the foggy mirror and stared at his reflection, freshly showered, towel slung low across his hips, several new scars scattered across his torso. ‘Scar’ might not have been exactly the right term. Raised and firm but smooth and warm like the skin around them, it was as if keloids had formed where the crystal shards had pierced his flesh. Unlike keloids, however, these were also sky blue. He scratched at the edge of one, feeling his skin yield gently to his fingers as it always had. The strange blue tissue muted sensation a little even as it itched. It was as if his wounds had become something not quite his own flesh and yet not quite other. 

In comparison, the inflamed incision and ragged line of stitches on his arm was almost comforting in its familiarity. Almost. He sighed as he peeled open a fresh wound dressing and carefully smoothed it down. The wound was seeping again and he would need some help with the popped stitches but it could wait for now. A knock on the door interrupted him as he finished wrapping medical tape around the bandage.

“Be right out! Lemme get some clothes on.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, baby boy.” He could hear the concern under his mother’s teasing. Yanking on his underwear, he dove for the door as the knob rattled. 

“I said I’d be right out!” There was a beat of silence and then a sigh and he heard her step away from the door. 

“You know I can pick that lock.”

“A man’s got to have his pants!”

He could hear her grumble receding all the way down the hallway towards his old bedroom. “Well if a certain man wants the burn phone he was so anxious to have me go out and get, he’d best hustle and actually talk to his mother.” Trip knew his mother. He hustled. 

“I’m gonna need you to help with my…,” he paused in the bedroom doorway.

“I think I have everything,” his mother said, looking critically down at the items spread over his quilt. “Not much I could do in half an hour and you know I don’t keep a go bag here, but you've done more with less.” 

“Momma, that’s your-.”

“My S&W? Yeah, I think you need it more, and I know it’ll see you through.” She picked up a pair of jeans and held them up to his waist. “You’ve lost a little weight, but they’ll still fit you OK.” 

Trip looked at the skivvy rolls, wallet sure to be filled with fake ID and cash, the promised burner phone and the plain duffel on the bed next to a compact first aid kit and his mother’s favorite handgun. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You can say ‘thank you,’ baby boy. You know this isn’t anything; you already took your granddaddy’s things and I knew it was important then and I know it’s important now.” She paused for a moment and then took his hand and looked him straight in the eye. “I may be retired, but I still keep my ear to the ground. There’s all sorts of whispers about crazy things happening, as if sleeper Nazis and bogeymen aren’t enough. And there is nothing normal about you showing up here in your old bedroom with no warning and looking like you’ve seen a ghost or two. So tell me what you can and we’ll see about getting you to where you need to be.”

He pulled her in for a tight hug, ignoring the twinge in his arm. “Thank you, Momma.”

“You’re a good boy, Antoine, and a good man,” she smiled up at him. “And if I know anything about anything, you’ve popped some stitches, so we’re going to sit down and I’ll fix you up while you fill me in. And then,” she dug a ring out of her pocket with a jangle of keys. “Since I know you won’t use that phone from here, you’re borrowing Mrs Alstede’s car.” 

“Does Mrs Alstede know that?” 

“It’ll be fine. I offered to drop it off at the shop for her; she’s called it in for the check engine light again. You won’t even need to go in. Just drop the keys in the box.” 

Trip shook his head and grinned at his Momma as she went to retrieve the first aid kit. Even if it was only for a couple hours, it was good to be home.


	3. If You're Feeling Sad and Lonely

Trip sat in the park watching the sun set over Dodgers Stadium, long shadows cutting through the fiery glow. A civilian followed a dog down the path towards the exit as he dialed a nine digit number into his cell phone. He waited, the line completely silent. A twelve count and three soft clicks came down the line. He dialed a different nine digit code and said clearly “I hope this is a good time.”

Three more clicks and silence. While he waited, Trip opened up the brown bag in his lap pulling out a corned beef on rye wrapped in waxed paper, a bottle of orange juice still cool to the touch, a bag of chips, and an oatmeal cookie. He shook his head; only his mother would pack him a school lunch. 

“Status, agent,” a Koenig's voice came down the line, all business.

“I'm in one piece, but far as I can tell I shouldn't be and I definitely shouldn't be here.” There was another pause.

“You're dead.” He could hear the suspicion in the tone.

“Not yet. Look, I don't know how or why, but last I remember of the op was that damn thing turning three of us into statues. Next thing I know I'm in a safe house nowhere near anything. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Huh.”

“Nothing I could do for our girl,” Trip cleared his throat a little, forcing back the memory of the black rock overtaking Skye as her hand reached for him. “Got a phone and I'm checking in. Seems like you're as surprised as I am that I'm alive, so I'm hoping someone must've got out.” Another series of clicks answered him and suddenly a new voice joined the call.

“This is unexpected.” Coulson sounded like he was on the quinjet, his tone a little loud and the echo tinny.

“You know it, sir. Sir, I'm sorry I couldn't-” 

“None of that right now; you’re not the only one who defied the odds today. I'm glad to hear you're clear of your rocky past.” There was a squawk in the background and Trip swore he heard Skye’s voice saying _Trip?! He’s OK?_

The relieved smile that flooded his face was so wide his cheeks hurt. 

“We've wrapped the op and are heading back to base. We'll get an extraction team to your location ASAP and debrief at HQ," Coulson continued.

“I'm on it, sir,” Koenig added.

“I'm really glad you're OK, Trip. That was one phone call I really wasn't looking forward to making.” 

“You and me both, sir.” Three clicks and Coulson's line disconnected.

“Elysian Park? Really?” In the background, the other Koenig said _Good one!_

“Hey, I work with what I've got.” 

“Right, ETA on extraction is... huh, an hour. Do you need medical assistance at this time?” 

“Nah, I'm good.”

“Right. There's a field big enough north of the arboretum. Find a secure spot and await extraction.” Three more clicks and the call disconnected.

***

Trip hitched the duffle higher on his good shoulder and walked toward the quinjet bay where May was waiting. He liked to think she relaxed a little when she saw him, but it was anyone's guess. 

“Hell of a day, sir.” 

She nodded in acknowledgement. “Strap in, Coulson wants us back yesterday.” 

He stashed his bag and began the pre-flight, settling into the routine until they were safely in the air. 

“They all made it out, even Mack. We didn't lose anyone,” May said, quietly. 

Trip took a deep breath, suddenly lighter despite all the weirdness of the day. “Good, that’s good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Call Me (Petula Clark).


	4. The Doctor Is In (Psychiatric Help 5c)

Trip carefully flexed his arm around the gauze wad and medical tape at his elbow as the tech disposed of the butterfly needle and began to affix labels to the blood samples.  

“Knock, knock!”  There was a scraping of curtain rings as Jemma slipped into the exam area.  "If you are very, very good, I believe that a Captain America bandage might be had. But only if you are very, _very_ good.”  There was a bruised and strained look around her eyes hinting at exhaustion despite her wide smile and cheerful entrance. She nodded to the tech as he took himself and the tray of samples back into the lab proper, closing the curtain carefully behind him.  

“I am _always_ good!  But I defer to your professional opinion.”

“Well, I’ve had a look at Coulson’s notes from the debriefing, and we’ll know more when we get your bloodwork back, but you, sir, are _much_ better off than we really have any right to expect.” She laid his file down on the  exam table and leaned her hip against it. “Do you have anything you’d like to discuss before I take a look?”

“It’s all in the file. It’s weird, alright, but one thing it isn’t is painful. I feel pretty good considering I shouldn’t be feeling anything right now.”

“That is _not_ funny. I’ll have you know it was very irresponsible running down into the temple that way. You didn’t even have your hazmat suit on!”  She crossed her arms and looked at him sternly.

“You know I couldn’t let the charges go off with Skye and Coulson down there.”

“And if the city had chosen to do to you what it did to Mack? You couldn’t know it wouldn’t!”

“You called it a defense mechanism, right? I was pulling the charges, so nothing to defend against.”  She looked unconvinced. “Hey, every day I go out there, I’m prepared for it to end badly. I still have to go out there and get the job done.” 

She made a face like she was tasting something unpleasant. “But you don’t have to invite trouble.”

He huffed a rueful laugh. “I’m a field agent; it’s part of the job. What’s more, you’d have done it too. Hell, Jemma, you do do it. I remember a few times. And did you or did you not go undercover with Hydra even though you usually can’t lie your way out of a library fine?”

“I would never lie about--!  Oh, very well. Just don’t think I’ve forgotten this. Just you wait, the next time you do something ridiculously foolhardy and heroic, I’ll be there--,” her lower lip trembled, and she suddenly hugged him fiercely. “Cheering you on like an idiot.  Just make sure you come back from the next time, too.”

He rubbed her back soothingly. “I’ll do my best. And you know my best is damn good.”

She pulled back and nodded firmly, her smile less brittle.  “All right, let’s get your shirt off and see what we’re dealing with, then.” She pulled on a pair of exam gloves. “If you’re going to tear your stitches, I can cut the shirt off.”

“No way, I’ve already lost one shirt today!” Trip said as he shrugged out of the shirt and eased it over his injured shoulder and arm.  “You haven’t been going non-stop this whole time have you? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you could use a break.”

“Oh!” she said softly, leaning in to look more closely at the curious blue marks scattered over his dark skin. “I had to examine everyone who went into the city… this is remarkable… but you’re the last one. You say this doesn’t hurt?” she asked absently, her hand reaching out as he sat straighter.

“Jemma!” he said sharply as he caught her wrist. She looked wide-eyed up into his and he grimaced. “Look, that obelisk killed a lot of people, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a bit of whatever was inside it inside _me_ now. I don’t know if a 4mil glove is going to keep you safe, OK?”

She straightened up immediately, and he released her wrist. “Oh my, of course! You must be terribly concerned. Although it seems direct contact with you otherwise is all right? After all you were just touching me, and I distinctly recall Coulson shaking your hand when you and May arrived back?”

“Yeah, I got lucky. It didn’t occur to me to worry until I got a good look at the marks, and by then I’d already touched someone. Didn’t decon properly either, so all I can hope is that dilution into the city sewage system is enough.”

Jemma nodded. “We’ll monitor for anything untoward, although we didn’t find any residue on Skye that was a danger to anyone else, so it’s possible you came through clean as well.”

“Good to know.”

“Although really, if your shirt is enough I should think the gloves would be more than safe, even if there is a risk.” She looked at him and paused. “Well, nevermind that right now. Let’s take a look at your wounds first, then. I see you’ve replaced the dressings...,” she peeled back the bandage on his arm, “and you did tear your stitches! Oh Trip, you really must be more careful.  Although this is a very neat job fixing them. Don’t tell me you did this yourself with a mirror.”  
  
“Had some help. It was an old familiar safe house, among friends, you know?”

“Mmm,” she smoothed a fresh dressing over the wound on his arm. “Doesn’t your mother live in the Los Angeles area?”

He winked at her, “Among friends.”  

She gave him an unimpressed look. “It is profoundly relevant to the curious phenomenon of you appearing a entire _continent_ away from your previous known location. And instantaneously for all we know!”

“Old habits. She retired a long time ago, and the cover is pretty much the only reason she wasn’t dragged back in. With things how they are now, I won’t risk it getting out.”

“Mm, I suppose I'll just have to practice my coded phraseology, then. Well, your wounds appear to be healing at a normal rate. The shoulder is better off, of course, since you didn’t have to replace any stitches there, but they’re both a bit inflamed. I’ll give you something for that when we finish up. Now, let’s take some tissue samples while you tell me everything you remember.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her as she thrust a swab into his mouth and quickly ran it around his cheek. “Nrh?”

She popped the vial closed and set it aside, pulling the tray into a more convenient location and settling onto a rolling stool.  “Yes, now. And don't leave anything out!

He eyed the empty syringe to which she had just affixed a large bore needle and took a deep breath. Maybe he could talk fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the Peanuts comic by Charles Schulz.


	5. Three O'Clock Blues

Trip paused in the doorway of the lounge-kitchen area to allow his eyes to adjust from the corridor. It was a large space and dim in the muted glow of idling view screens and a solitary pool of warm lamplight. Skye was leaning against the counter staring blankly at the electric kettle as it grumbled towards boiling. 

“Hey,” Trip said quietly as he retrieved a mug from the shelf, his t-shirt clinging clammily to his back in the precisely calibrated chill of the Playground (Koenig insisted that 64°F was the optimal intersection of efficiency and comfort, and usually he found it pleasant enough). She nodded with a barely there smile, and dropped her eyes back to the kettle as it switched off with a soft click. 

“Hey,” she murmured in turn, pulling over a box of teabags and dropping one into her mug with a grimace.

“You don’t look too keen on that,” he offered. 

“May suggested it, but I’m not a fan of chamomile. Tastes like a fish tank.” She wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out with a glimmer of her usual spirits.

Trip contemplated the mint teabag he had pulled out for himself and then the woman leaning wearily against the counter, and he slid the packet back into the box.

“You know what? After the day we had tea just isn’t going to cut it.” He pulled a saucepan off the rack and put some milk on to warm.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah, this requires some serious medicine.” 

“That’s not where May stashes her whisky,” she said as he dug around in the back of one of the cupboards. “Not that I would know where she does! … Maybe.”

“Nah, we don’t need whisky. This calls for mini-marshmallows,” he said, triumphantly displaying two pouches of instant cocoa. He grinned as she snorted a small, genuine laugh. 

The silence was comfortable as the milk warmed, but he could tell she wanted to say something. She finally burst out. “You died, or I thought you died. I’m really glad I didn’t get you killed.”

He finished pouring the mix into the mugs and turned off the burner. He cocked an eyebrow at her and then turned his attention to adding the milk. 

“I know, I know, you’re a specialist; it’s in your job description, blah blah blah.” She flapped her hand a little, and he snorted as he briskly stirred each mug and then handed one to her. 

“Come on, I want to be comfortable for this conversation.” He led the way to the sofa in the far corner that had full view of the room and the stairway to the upper level offices. He flicked on a table lamp and waited as she tucked herself into the opposite corner from him, feet curled up under her, hands closely cradling the warm mug. She was a compact, unhappy ball of exhaustion. “Can’t sleep?”

She huffed a bitter laugh. “Where do I start? Whitehall? Ward? My _father?_ Oh, and that little thing where we were gassed by a deadly crystal and then I brought down the temple. It just keeps spinning around and around and, ugh, I just want to stop thinking about it for a minute and sleep.” She stared glumly at the dissolving marshmallows. “I don’t want to be like him, not ever. But everything he and Raina said about the obelisk… what if Ward’s right? What if I’m a monster, too? All those people dying? What they did to my mother? All for what? A chance at being more what?” She took a shuddering breath. “I liked being ‘Skye’; not really feeling the ‘Daisy’.”

He took a sip of his cocoa, licked his upper lip, and then cleared his throat. “I woke up from a nightmare halfway through the bed.”

“What?”

“Woke up in a cold sweat sunk halfway through the mattress like I was a ghost. I was just... sliding through it like I was getting less and less there and I thought, if I let go, I’ll just be gone. Really gone.” He tightened his grip on the mug, letting the warm weight anchor him. “Freaked out, threw myself out of bed and by the time I hit the floor I was solid again.”

She gaped at him.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not a ghost; hitting the floor _hurt_. And hey, you can see me, and cocoa still tastes good. But yeah, that’s what’s keeping me up.” He took a long sip from his mug and settled a little more deeply into the cushions. “Kind of avoiding the whole sleep thing right now. I don’t want to end up in the sub-basement archives.” _Or stuck under the foundation,_ he thought to himself.

She jumped up to set down her mug and then started patting his shoulders and arms, barely avoiding his bandages. “Oh my God, are you OK? Do you need Simmons? What can we do?”

“And see, right there, that’s how I know you’ll be alright.” 

She sat back and gave him one of her signature side-eyed looks. “What.”

“Skye, whatever happened to us in there, whoever your parents are, you’re still you. The _you_ you decided to be. There’s no way you could tell me you’d go bad that I’d believe.” She scoffed and he pinned her with a stern look. “I just made this all about me. After the week you had, I made it all about me and you let me. Seriously, girl, I joined SHIELD because of my grandaddy’s stories and things my Momma didn’t tell me, but you joined SHIELD to save people. You made that decision, not some parents you barely know or a chunk of freaky rock.”

She interrupted, “Actually, I joined SHIELD under false pretenses to find my parents.” she laughed bitterly, “And we all know how well that turned out.”

He practiced his own side-eye on her. “And you’re telling me that you’ve been faking it through all that world saving. Riiiiight.” He watched her squirm for a moment. “Look, it isn’t a competition; who had the worse day or who has the nobler ideal. It’s about trying to rise above what’s easy to get to what’s right. We’re trying all the time. _You_ are trying all the time, and right now this little insomnia club we’re having is the best proof you could give me of that.”

She smiled wanly, “‘Insomnia Club’ should be a band name.”

He patted her ankle. “I bet the Director would OK karaoke for the holiday party we aren’t officially having on the weekend we don’t officially observe.”

“Maybe I can wow you all with my shower singing skills. Just, you know, with clothes on and not in the shower.” 

He grinned the grin that said he and the rest of the base already knew what her singing in the shower sounded like and she rolled her eyes. Leaning back into the cushions, she finally sipped from her mug and Trip let his eyes sag half closed. He was _tired._

She shifted uncertainly and he looked over at her again. “You’re going to talk to Simmons, right? About that whole, you know, dissolving thing.” She gestured up and down and he quirked a half smile.

“Yeah, was planning on getting up in a few hours anyway. Might as well wait for her here. I don’t suppose you have any insight on this? What it did to you, I mean?”

“No clue; it’s not the same with me.” She propped her head against the back of the sofa, drooping. “But I can tell you what I know. Better than rehashing all that other stuff in my head all night. I don’t think I’m getting to sleep any time soon.” 

He looked over the back of the sofa and retrieved the blanket that was stashed there. Handing her one end, he got comfortable. “Sounds to me like a plan.” 

“So, you know how I said I brought down the temple....?” Her voice was soft and a little disbelieving as she started, as if she was not sure how this was her life. He could sympathize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song of the same title by B.B. King.


	6. Every Particle and Utensil Labeled to My Will

Trip was walking to the swing lab space for his appointment with Simmons when he heard the distinctive sound of Hunter’s griping from down the hall.

“-Tirely sure why I’m the one holding this thing up?”

“A little more to the left… more… more… there!” came Fitz’s voice and the sound of a ratchet wrench.

“Surely there’s someone else who could do this for you? I have much more important things to be doing right now.”

“You told me you were going to take a nap and then catch up on Dog Cops,” came Mack’s voice.

“Could you hand me the… the… no, the other one, yes!” Fitz’s voice was slightly muffled and Trip realized why as he walked through the lab entrance. The engineer was lying half hidden under a steel platform that Hunter was bracing. Mack was involved in some sort of business involving wrenches and screwdrivers on the other side of the unit and occasionally handing Fitz tools.

“Trip! Just the person! If you could come here and hold this up, I’ll be on my way.” 

Trip ignored him and knelt down to peer at Fitz who had several different components and tools on his chest as he worked on a tangle of wires and chips in an access panel. From this angle it also became obvious that Mack was attaching a secondary frame to the unit and connecting sensors and wiring as he went. 

“I’m supposed to be meeting Simmons?” 

“Oh, right, Coulson called her away for something. She’ll be back in a bit. Can’t start without this, anyway.” 

Trip stood up and walked around them, ducking out of the way as Mack fitted in a series of sheets of clear material, glass or polycarbonate or something, to the frame. “Uh, what exactly is ‘this’?”

“Quantum Field Generator.” Mack said. Fitz’s hand came out from under the platform and shook demandingly and Mack dropped another tool into it, seemingly at random to Trip although Fitz appeared satisfied. “She got the idea from something you all worked on a while back? Said it could help diagnose what’s going on with your whole disappearing thing.”

“Didn’t work on it, but it was in a report so we’re building one.” Fitz said from below.

“And now you’re here, you can help, seeing how it’s for your benefit.” Hunter said from his position still braced on the side of the unit. 

“Nah, we’re good,” Mack said. “Almost done,” and he pushed on the clear frame he had been assembling and it smoothly swung down on hinges until it clicked into place suspended perfectly level a few centimeters over the top of the steel platform. He moved in sequence to all four corners and Trip could see there was some sort of locking mechanism to hold the frame secure.

“Anyway,” Fitz said. “Mack finished bolting down the platform twenty minutes ago.” 

“What!” Hunter squawked and straightened up. “Why didn’t you tell me that twenty minutes ago?” 

“You were having such a good time complaining about it. And Dog Cops is on hiatus; you have plenty of time to catch up.” Mack said as he polished the clear frame carefully with a cloth.

Hunter rolled his eyes. “I maybe, _possibly_ made other plans.” 

“You’re at the cutting edge of science right here, my man. What could possibly be more interesting than that?”

Hunter waved a hand over his head as he left, calling back to them, “Believe me, my plans are much more attractive. Much.”

Trip smirked as Mack and Fitz low-fived each other. Fitz rolled out from under the platform, passed up his tools and remaining components to Mack, and accepted Trip’s arm up. 

“We have to… to… calibrate the sensors. It’ll take a bit.” Fitz said as he sent the creeper he had been using over to the wall with his foot.

“Mind if I watch? The cutting edge of science is pretty interesting and I have nowhere else to be.”

“Sure, sure. Best not to stand there… uh, yeah, over there is good.” Fitz proceeded to tap and swipe at a tablet while putting different things on the completed platform (a series of flasks, a series of petri dishes, an apple, a potted plant, etc.). He kept glancing up at Mack putting things away around the lab. Fitz had a concerned wrinkle around his eyes, and Trip noticed that Mack was a little more focused than his task required. 

“Is something more supposed to happen?” Trip asked as Mack returned from taking the creeper back to the garage and Fitz put a white rat onto the platform.

“Nothing visible at this level; power’s too low.” Mack replied as they watched the rat sniff around at the surface and then make little forays forward and back as it explored.

“But it’s doing something, right?"

"'Course, the readings are about what we'd expect." Fitz flipped around the tablet to show him an incomprehensible mish-mash of charts and tables, waveforms, and data points. 

"What exactly is a quantum field generator, anyway?” 

Fitz took a deep breath and then stopped himself. “You’d better explain,” he said to Mack before he added a second rat to the platform. “You’re better at… at....,” he waved his hand around.

“Layman’s terms?” 

“Layman’s terms, yes. That.”

“Right, so electrons can be in one place and then another without being in between, but it only works at the quantum level. It doesn’t work when things get bigger. Simmons wants to figure out how you’re doing it at the macro level, or if you’re harnessing quantum entanglement which is a whole other thing.”

“Spooky action at a distance,” Fitz interjected distractedly as he added a work glove to the two rats now exploring the edges of the platform. 

“You’re messing with me now, aren’t you?” Trip asked.

“No, that was what Einstein called it. He wasn’t a fan.” Fitz said, adding one of his shoes to the platform.

“What he said,” Mack confirmed.

“Seriously?”

“I’d say quantum entanglement would explain it, although not how you did it, but the whole dissolving thing doesn’t make sense, insofar as quantum mechanics makes sense the normal way,” Fitz continued. “A perfect copy of you m… m… appearing there at the same instant you disintegrate here, OK. But I can’t see how that works for, you know, being here and not here at the same time.” He appeared to be done with the rats and gently caught them and put them back in their cage.

Trip felt a little faint. “Perfect copy?”

“They’ve only managed with photons so far, but the theory works. Everything would be the same, all the information encoded on every particle of you would be identical to the smallest degree. Just, you know, different actual particles. I wouldn’t worry about it; you’d still be you.” Fitz looked up from putting his shoe back on and must have seen something in Trip’s expression. “But we don’t think that’s what happened! Mack...?”

“Right, like Fitz said it doesn’t make sense with the partial dissolve,” Mack hurried to reassure Trip.

“Right! So, you’re still you, possibly, or probably even!” Fitz rubbed the back of his neck and, gestured to the door. “Uh, Simmons will be back any mo’, um, I’ll just be, uh….” 

“I promised we’d take a look at the shielding on one of the SUVs.” Mack made a move toward the door and at that moment Simmons hurried in, breathless.

“Fitz, Mack, you finished it! It looks perfect.” She looked after them in confusion as both men rattled out their farewells, Fitz garbling out something about the calibration, and fled.

“Oh, well, that’s odd. I quite thought Fitz would like to be here for this. He was going on and on about how force shouldn’t work like that if one is intangible.” She turned and looked at him in concern. “Are you all right, Trip? You look a trifle peaky.”

“Quantum entangling? Perfect copies?” 

“Ohhhhh, right. It’s really not that bad, even if that’s what’s happened, although I must assure you that I, we, don’t think that’s what happened. Here, have a seat and I’ll explain.” 

“Right.” Trip sat on one of the rolling stools Simmons pulled over and hoped he would be able to understand what she was saying. He was not enjoying the feeling of his reality disintegrating around him, however figurative it was this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And lo! scientifically dubious technobabble rears its head. Chapter title from Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night,_ I:vi.


	7. Rosy-Fingered Dawn

Trip rinsed out his water bottle and hung it up to dry. Shifting his routine earlier in the morning had been the right idea. The pre-dawn quiet was a good time to think with the familiar stretch and flex of his muscles and the rush of endorphins as a welcome counterpoint. That the showers were usually deserted before 6am was a side benefit. There was always someone awake but the night shift was skeletally thin given their reduced ranks. 

It was not that he was shy, but the crystal fragments that had transmuted into something approaching his flesh were still need-to-know. That there was no way to test if the tissue was safe to touch was no small matter, either. Well, not unless they were willing to risk lives over it, and none of them were prepared to go that far.

He shook off the inevitable dark train of thought that that would lead to as he tossed his gear into the laundry chute and made his way to the kitchen. A proper breakfast, that was worth thinking about. He had had a good night and a good workout; that deserved something that took more effort than cold cereal. Buttered whole wheat toast, fried ham steak cut from the tin Fitz had opened the day before, a couple soft poached eggs, and an apple for now and one for the road. That was a menu even his Momma would give her seal of approval (especially since she had won the “relative dietary merits of ham vs. turkey bacon” debate of 1991). 

He gave silent heartfelt thanks for the mysterious ways in which Koenig kept them supplied as he set a saucepan of water on to heat. Quartermaster was an unenviable job, but they had a generous, if limited in variety, selection of fresh food. And plenty of coffee, he thought as he set a fresh pot on to brew. 

On a hunch, he walked up the stairs and glanced down the hallway to Coulson’s office. As he anticipated, the door was ajar and showing a line of light where a desk lamp supplemented the pale morning sunlight that was just beginning to creep over the horizon. Nodding to himself, he jogged back down the stairs and set to making breakfast. 

Half an hour later, he knocked on Coulson’s door with a tray. “Sir?”

“Come in,” Coulson called, his fresh suit and tie proving that he had not in fact spent the night at his desk. At the sight of the tray, he asked, “What’s the occasion?”

“Thought you could use some breakfast,” Trip said as he set down the tray and passed over a mug of coffee and a plate. “And I was hoping to talk.”

Coulson made a pleased sound when he saw what was on the plate. “If this is a bribe, it’s working. I was about to eat my own left shoe. I can give you....” he checked the time “... twenty minutes while we eat, and then I’m kicking you out for a conference call.”

“Yes, sir!”

Poached eggs wait for no man, so for a few minutes there was no sound but the clinking of silverware and the crunching of toast. 

A fortifying sip of coffee to clear his mouth, and Trip began. “Simmons said you approved the new training and evaluation protocol with the end goal to get me back to field status.”

Coulson nodded and swallowed a bit of ham. “We need to establish your new baselines and make sure you’re in control of your new abilities before we can let you back in the field on missions. Much as you are useful in tactical, we don’t have enough field agents right now and we sorely need you back on the ground.”

“About that, sir, I agree completely. I want to get back out there, and the sooner the better. I’m just not sure where my.... abilities fall when it comes to fieldwork.”

“What’s your concern?”

“I’ve been having trouble with the tests. The intangibility, Fitz calls it ‘phasing’, we’ve made a small amount of progress in the lab and I think I can control it at least enough not to have it happen by accident. But the other thing?”

“The teleportation.”

“I haven’t been able to reproduce it, and I don’t know that that’ll change. Simmons thinks it may be a new autonomic response to peril, and I’m well aware of what kinds of problems that would cause. This job is made up of peril.” 

“And even if you could do it at will, you don’t know that you would want to.” Coulson said thoughtfully.

Trip nodded. “Armchair psych says I don’t want to so I can’t, but there’s no way to tell without convincing me I’m going to be killed or maimed if I don’t, which means actually trying to kill or maim me. Simmons thinks they could trick me into doing it again; I’m not really sure I want to know what it would take to trigger it either way. But there’s more, sir.” Trip took a breath. “Will I be required to use my new abilities to complete my mission parameters?” 

Coulson pushed aside his plate and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Skye has been running algorithms through the data dump; I’ve read the reports. You’re concerned about being used as a weapon rather than an asset.”

“That I am. I believe in our work, sir, but the past has a way of repeating itself despite good intentions. I don’t know what limits there are to my new abilities and I’m a little scared to find out, but that doesn’t mean I don’t already have things I won’t do. I haven’t yet been expected to exceed those limits and I’m hoping to keep it that way.”

Coulson leaned back in his chair and sighed a deep breath. “Fury used to say that the world was filling up with people who can’t be stopped. That our core mission to shield the world from the rogue elements within it is untenable without our own extraordinary people to meet the challenge.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands over his desk blotter and meeting Trip’s eyes seriously. “I believe that the person to control a gifted should be that gifted, but we’ve both seen how that works. I can’t promise you that I will never ask you to use your new abilities to the fullest in the execution of your duties as a SHIELD agent. You know the realities of this job and the challenges we are facing as well as any of us. But believe me when I say that I will never take the request lightly and I will never take your reservations for granted. You are more to this team than your new abilities, Trip, and I won’t lose sight of that.” 

“Thank you, sir. That’s all I needed to hear.” Trip stood, stacking the dishes back onto the tray and handing Coulson an apple. 

Coulson weighed the apple in his hand before putting it aside and asked as Trip straightened to leave. “How are you, Trip?”

He gave a small smile. “It’s been weird, you know? Figuring out the new me. Simmons is fired up and it can get overwhelming at times. But I didn’t become a SHIELD agent because I’m afraid of challenges.” 

“Good--,” Coulson said. A knock on the door frame interrupted him and they looked over to see May in the open doorway. “And there’s part of my conference call.”

May looked at the empty plates and the matching apples on the tray and the desk and quirked her mouth. “I only got him a granola bar,” she said to Trip before tossing it at Coulson’s head. 

Coulson caught it out of the air with a grin and laid it next to the apple as he stood up. “Thank you, Trip. My door is open if you need to talk, or, you know, if you come bearing food again.” He gathered May’s attention with a look, and turned back to the younger man. “I know Skye is having a difficult time reconciling what happened to her. The two of you share something the rest of us can only guess at. If there is something that can help you both, May and I want to hear about it.” Coulson’s jaw took on that angle it got when he was being determined and May nodded.

“She told me talking to you helped, but she’s not handling the transition well,” May said. “We could use some fresh ideas.”

“Yes sirs, I’ll do my best,” Trip said, straightening to attention. They nodded their dismissal and he headed back downstairs as May closed the door behind him. 

Trip decided as he quickly cleaned up from breakfast that the first order of business was to make a fresh pot of coffee. The previous one had, in the mysterious way of all unattended coffee pots on the base, emptied itself while he was gone and he definitely needed another cup this morning. Second order of business would be to find Skye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The latest teaser for the second half of season 2 tells me I'm going to be waaaay off canon when the show comes back aside from, you know, the obvious. We'll see how it goes. 
> 
> Chapter title from Homer's _Oddysey_ (in translation, of course)
> 
> The first part of this chapter led to me making and consuming poached eggs TWICE. Because I am just that food suggestible (and they are just that easy and delicious to prepare).


	8. Equal and Opposite Force

Trip ducked another fist aimed at his head and faked right before snapping left. Bobbi bounced back out of range and met his grin with one of her own before following a high kick with a spin and sweep. He dodged the one and leapt over the other before he closed again. He let himself sink into the focus of a good sparring match, warming to the rhythm of strike and feint, draw and evade, moving with the blows that he could not slip. 

The disused factory had already been gutted by its previous owners and the huge open space now housed a gym setup including the sparring mats that he and Bobbi were currently using, a mishmash of scientific equipment that Trip only partially understood, and a selection of institutional furniture that looked like it came from a college dorm from the 80s. If he glanced to his left, he could see Skye sitting at an ugly green formica table, speaking with Simmons who was swiping at a tablet and waving her free hand. 

Trip shook off a glancing hit to his shoulder and was glad Bobbi was not using her staves today. He let his situational awareness expand again as he balanced instinct with calculation and closed. Dodge. Feint. Strike. Dodge. Strike. Dodge.

The high ceiling had been stripped of the original suspended shop lights and the space was lit by windows that circled the building above the second storey catwalk; new LED fixtures were scattered throughout the area adding supplemental light where needed. The air was cool and smelled of old machine oil and new plastic. Acoustic foam partially wrapped the walls; it helped to dull the sharp echoes in the space to a comfortable level and he could even hear the conversation Skye and Simmons were having whenever they got emphatic about something. From what he could tell, it was a variation on the same conversation they had been having for the last two hours, from the moment they had all climbed into the SUV for the drive over to the training facility.

 _This is getting us nowhere._ Skye huffed, pushing her chair back from the table. _It’s a bowl of water. I need to stop blowing stuff up, not stare at a bowl of water like I’m trying to channel Dumbledore._

Trip slid out of the way as Bobbi faked a kick and then followed through with a punch. He responded with a spinning back-fist as their positions reversed and when the blow did not land he used his momentum to fall back a little. They circled slowly, and Bobbi blew at a strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail and jerked her chin up.

 _More of a basin, really. Perhaps you should try that since the breathing exercises from May didn’t help? He always seemed such a calm character._ Jemma said, typing on her tablet. _She says that you need to relax and stop worrying so much about focus, that you both know you can focus just fine and that you also both know it’s not the problem -- that’s an awful lot of ‘you’s, isn’t it? But she says if pretending to be Dumbledore gets the job done, then she herself will get you a pointy hat on the way back to base._

Trip avoided a flurry of quick spins and jabs designed to take advantage of Bobbi’s slight reach advantage, and closed in to grapple, their breath huffing in the cool air.

 _I don’t think she means a wizard hat._ Skye grumbled. _And this would be so much faster if you just gave me the tablet._

 _Not after what you did to my other one. For now you’ll just have to stick with holographic interfaces and you know we haven’t set up any here. Yet! I’m sure Fitz and Mack will…._ The tablet chimed. _Oh, May says she has to go; they’re almost to the drop site._

_Ugh, I hate this._

Bobbi eeled out of his hold and flipped out of reach again. Trip shook a bit of sweat out of his eyes and considered. He tipped his head toward the bench with their towels and water bottles and she smirked and nodded, before relaxing her stance as he did. They ambled over to the bench and quickly wiped down before sipping from their respective water bottles.

“Did you try? I couldn’t tell.” Bobbi asked, redoing her ponytail neatly.

 _You’ll be back in the field before you know it._ Simmons said in the background. 

_Yeah, yeah, I know. I’d be more of a risk than an asset right now. It still blows.”_

“Some. Couldn’t find the zone,” he replied and then took another sip of cool water.

_I could try sedating you, if that would help?_

“What’s the zone like?” Bobbi asked before taking her own slow sip. He considered for a moment as the sweat cooled on his skin.

_Yeah, no, I don’t think having me loopy AND capable of leveling a city block would be a good idea, do you? Remember what happened to your lab?_

_Well yes, but the readings before you shorted the wiring were fascina… right. Well, we have this lovely new space and we know what happens when you’re upset, so let’s see if we can’t manage it when you’re not in distress._

“Easy,” he said. “Terrifyingly easy, once you get there.” He smiled wryly at her inquiring head tilt. “Easy as falling off a cliff.”

_I wonder if this is what the Hulk feels like._

He ignored her look of sympathy and shook off the serious moment. He looked consideringly back towards the mats and raised an eyebrow at her. “Shall we.” 

_Oh, now that’s a fascinating case! The similarities are superficial to be sure, but they’re strikingly analogous if one ignores all the actual biology._

“Sure, that was a good warm-up. Now let’s see what you’ve really got.” Bobbi smirked at him as she bounced over to the matts and squared up.

_... You’re messing with me now, aren’t you?_

_Just a little. It IS fascinating, however, and I believe Coulson has met the good doctor. We should ask him about it when they get back!_

“Oh, I see how it’s gonna be.” Trip teased back as he followed, bringing up his guard. They circled each other slowly, taking the time to assess each other anew after their break.

Skye sighed and scooted her chair closer to table. _Right, and in the meantime I need to stop causing mass destruction wherever I go, because that’s apparently a thing now._ She placed her palms flat on the table and looked at the large steel mixing bowl they had liberated from the kitchens. _Dumbledore, OK, I can do Dumbledore…._

Trip evaded a jab and attempted to close as Bobbi whipped sideways and then lashed out with a leg kick. He shook off the blow and feinted right before closing again as she aimed for his leg again. He grappled with her, attempting to put her in a lock when she slipped his hold, and snapped her heel toward his leg. The world narrowed and then expanded again as her blow passed _through_ his leg. They sprang apart just as a muffled _whump!_ sounded through the building, followed by a ringing clang and a beat later by the patter of droplets. 

“Well!” Jemma said, and then paused, speechless for once. Trip and Bobbi looked over at the two wide-eyed women, now dripping and bedraggled. Droplets on the table and floor formed a visible blast wave pattern from where the bowl had originally been. The bowl had slid to the edge of the table but was otherwise intact. 

They all looked over as the sensors to the access door flashed red and then went green. Then Fitz was standing in the doorway with shopping bags in his hands. He looked at the four blinking agents and the water on the floor, and turned to talk to whomever was behind him.

“Mack, you were right, we’re going to need those extra napkins.” Stepping forward, he lifted one of the bags. “So. We brought sandwiches!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Newton’s third law of motion.
> 
> Hopefully the interlaced portion of the chapter is neither profoundly annoying nor completely incomprehensible.


End file.
